


nothing will come from nothing

by getchy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getchy/pseuds/getchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The hell you whistlin’ about?” Daryl’s low voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.</p>
<p>“It’s stuck in my head,” Jesus answered, wiping a gloved finger along the shelf beside him as he passed through the mom and pop store they’d come across. He eyed the dust that had built up there before wiping his hand on his pants. “Don’t you get songs stuck in your head?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing will come from nothing

There were some days when the absurd reality of his existence got to be just a little bit too much for him and Jesus couldn’t do anything but chuckle to himself at the turn of events his life had taken. Eight years ago he was still in college, planning every single step of the future ahead of him. Sure, he’d be paying off student loans until he was fifty, but he’d have a solid career, too. Whenever things got really shitty with his boyfriend, or his parents were on his case about something stupid, or his boss was being an absolute prick, Paul would sing this old song to himself that he’d seen in a movie when he was a teenager. _Always look on the bright side of life,_ the words would come to him, cheerfully, and he’d whistle along to the next bit after it. He couldn’t count how many times that song had sprung into his brain while he was in the middle of taking down a bunch of biters. It was a silly thing to hum songs at a time like that, but the whole world was a little bit silly these days. Maybe calling it silly was putting it lightly, actually.

“The hell you whistlin’ about?” Daryl’s low voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.

“It’s stuck in my head,” Jesus answered, wiping a gloved finger along the shelf beside him as he passed through the mom and pop store they’d come across. He eyed the dust that had built up there before wiping his hand on his pants. “Don’t you get songs stuck in your head?” He asked, an attempt at making conversation. They’d cleared the undead, now it was just a matter of sifting through the remains of the inventory. As predicted, the other man responded with a noncommittal grunt and wandered off into the opposite direction of the store.

They were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, on a two day run to find whatever the hell they could get their hands on. Negan had made his impression on the people of Alexandria, so now when he said _fuckin’ jump_ they asked _how high, sir?_ The only thing any of them could do for the time being was bring in as many supplies as they could and sit back while Negan and his people took their share. It was Hilltop all over again with everyone scrambling to give the man what he wanted so they could survive without further damage to their numbers. The deal between Alexandria and Hilltop was Daryl and Jesus would go on a run together and they’d split whatever they brought in between their communities. So far they’d come up with zilch, but Jesus was nothing if not a chronic optimist. 

“ _Life is quite absurd.. and death's the final word…_ ,” he trailed off, humming the rest as he leafed through a stack of dogeared novels stashed behind the counter. Whoever worked here had a penchant for novels that leaned towards the trashier end of the literary spectrum.

“Nothin’ here. Let’s get going.” Daryl had remerged, catching Jesus in the act of pocketing a battered copy of _Flowers in the Attic_. 

“After you,” Jesus said, gesturing towards the door. Daryl led them out without a word.

—

They worked well together out there. It helped that either one of them could have completed the job on their own, he figured. Daryl was efficient and, like Jesus, he always seemed to be thinking about the next step. Jesus had been a little bit of a lone wolf all of his life. His upbringing hadn’t left much room for maintaining long term relationships and after a decade or so of that it sort of became the norm to do your own thing and become self sufficient. It made it easy to do his job for the people of Hilltop. Weeks on his own didn’t seem so bad when he’d endured much of the same before the world fell.

The two of them made their way to a small cul-de-sac in what appeared to be the ritzy part of town. Daryl slunk along the side of the house with Jesus at his heels, watching their backs as they approached a sliding glass door. Jesus didn’t spend much time fussing over the gun he kept on him, but Daryl always seemed happy to enter any room crossbow first. The archer reached out, rapping his knuckles against the glass and waiting for any undead inside to hear and respond. A few moments of silence passed before he knocked again, and Jesus found his mind wandering while they waited. How many family dinners had been had on this very back patio? How many neighbours had stopped by to visit, knocking on this same door? 

“I think we’re good,” Jesus said, trying to urge the moment on a little bit. Daryl looked back at him, his eyes as inscrutable as ever. Jesus prided himself on being a good judge of character, it was a huge part of his job these days, but Daryl wasn’t easily read just yet. He was quiet and kept to himself. 

“After you,” the archer nodded to the sliding glass door and Jesus tugged on it, surprised to find it open without any fuss. 

The thing was, that was kind of as far as a lot of their conversations went. Jesus was okay with doing things alone, but when he was given the opportunity he was more than happy to be the social animal that people were meant to be. He had questions about the other man, of course. Quiet as the man was, Daryl stuck out like a sore thumb with the people of Alexandria. He reminded Jesus of the outside dog he’d had growing up, an old mutt he’d named Gizmo. As much as Gizmo was part of the family, the few times they’d brought the dog inside he’d whined at the door and chewed up the furniture. 

The house smelled like it had been closed up since the world ended. There was a time when a smell that heavy, that putrid would have made his stomach turn but now it was almost a comfort. They would find no living in there, none of Negan’s Saviors lurking in the next room waiting on them. Jesus heard the telltale groan from the other end of the house and stepped towards it. A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder, halting him, and he looked over his shoulder and Daryl who only nodded in the direction he was heading. “Sounds like just one,” Jesus said, and Daryl released him to continue on his way. Had the older man assumed Jesus hadn’t heard the dead on the other side of the door? The thought was borderline offensive. 

When they’d been turned as long as this one, it was almost as easy as carving up the Thanksgiving turkey. The blade found no resistance when Jesus opened the door a little and the biter stuck her head through the small section he’d left open. Half of her face was long gone anyway. Paul used to wonder about every single walker he finished off, wonder about their lives and their deaths, but those days were long behind him. It was like swatting at mosquitos now in that you killed them just to make sure you wouldn't lose any blood.

“Here seems as good a place as any to set up for the night,” Jesus suggested, letting the door fall closed from the weight of the woman’s body. He stepped back and found a corner of a sofa to wipe his blade off on before sheathing it again. 

The hunter chewed on his lip, looking around the place. “Gonna check the rest out first. But yeah, seems alright,” he agreed, and they split up to check the rest of the house out. As suspected from the outside, when this place had been inhabited by the living, those living had been pretty well off. The master bedroom was almost comically grandiose, the bed big enough to fit a handful of people comfortably. There were pillars around it to make it seem that much more impressive, and Jesus was leaning in close to check out the carvings in the wood when Daryl wandered in with a suitcase that he’d filled with canned foods. “Rest’a the houses on the street have pantries like this and we’ll have a bit to take back with us…” the hunter said, setting the bag down and flopping into a cushy chair in the corner. He didn’t seem to mind that it was covered in bunched up old laundry. He slouched back and closed his eyes, folding his arms across his chest while his crossbow rested in his lap. “You get first watch,” he mumbled. His breathing had evened out within the minute, and Jesus sat himself by the window and looked out at the quiet neighbourhood.

—

He read the book until he ran out of daylight, then he opted to sit in the dark. When he was on his own he rarely used light after the sun went down, since that was a surefire way to get spotted from a distance. The curtains for the big window to the master bedroom were opened, and the moonlight shone in enough to cast some light on the two of them. Daryl didn’t move an inch as he slept, which Jesus found interesting. It seemed to fit with what he could tell about the man’s personality. He was steady, unwavering. He knew what he was and he stuck to it. _Stubborn,_ one might say. Jesus had more than a little experience with stubborn men, all of whom he credited with his newfound patience.

 _If life seems jolly rotten, there’s something you’ve forgotten… and that’s to…_ his memory reached for the next line of the song. Daryl had been asleep for hours now, the room silent except for his breathing and the shuffle of Paul’s boots whenever he moved to a different place. That book had been weird, a bunch of kids locked in an attic in an old house. He felt almost as cooped up as they did in the moment, waiting for the sun to rise so he could get back to the job at hand. _There’s something you’ve forgotten… and that’s to laugh and… laugh and…_ , knowing his luck the next lyric would come to him when he was about to get some sleep.

“You ever stop humming?” his thoughts were interrupted by the man in the corner. Looking over, Jesus noticed that Daryl hadn’t even moved an inch. His eyes were still closed, his legs stretched out in front of him. “You’ve been doing it all damn day.” 

“Do you ever get songs stuck in your head?” Jesus asked again. Maybe this time he would get an answer. 

Daryl grunted. Jesus rolled his eyes under the cover of darkness, stifling a yawn. 

“I’ll take watch,” Daryl finally got himself up from the chair, making his way towards the window and sitting down on the cushioned bench there. Paul offered no resistance, flopping back onto the massive bed and pulling the first blanket he saw up over himself. He stared towards the window, his tired eyes taking in the silhouette of the hunter while he stood watch. It was a pleasant sight, he realised. It was comforting to know he could sleep and someone was there watching his back. _Always look on the bright-_

“Stop fuckin’ humming and go to sleep.” Jesus hummed in response, his eyelids already too heavy to even think about opening again. Old reliable was watching, so he knew he could sleep well.

—

“So you’ve never heard of Monty Python?” The noon sun was beating down harshly. It had taken most of the morning to clear out the rest of the houses on the street, but luckily the rich people in that area all had those big travel luggages with wheels on them. The truck was a few blocks away, and they rolled along the middle of the road side by side.

“Nah.” Daryl drawled, walking around a pile of the dead in the middle of the road. They reached out to them and groaned as they passed.

“What did you like to watch on TV?” Jesus asked, going on the opposite direction of the road and coming back to Daryl’s side once they’d passed the undead. 

“Nothin’,” he answered. Jesus waited a beat, staring a him. Daryl seemed to feel the gaze and looked over at him, shrugging his wide shoulders once their eyes locked. “I was outdoorsy.”

“So what, you were more into climbing trees and catching frogs?” The goal here was not to annoy the other man into stabbing him, but the look on Daryl’s face told Jesus that his little interrogation might end that way of he kept it up. Somehow, he was not deterred. 

“Somethin’ like that,” the man answered. 

The groan that Jesus offered in reply ended with a chuckle. “Are you trying to be as mysterious as possible? Is that, like, a goal you’ve set for yourself?” 

The corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched. Jesus felt a thrill of excitement at the idea that he’d almost witnessed something resembling a smile. 

“The hell kind of goal is that for a person to set, anyhow?” Daryl said, stopping once they approached the old truck they’d driven there. It was red and rusted. When his mom was alive he always warned Paul that red cars were more dangerous somehow. She'd been full of useless misinformation, his mother. He loaded his luggage up into the bed and wiped his dirty hands on the front of his jeans. “Why’re you so nosy, huh?” 

“You’re _interesting_ ,” Jesus told him, lifting his own bags up with a grunt of effort and tossing them in behind Daryl’s. He made his way to the drivers seat and climbed up into the seat, waiting for Daryl to do the same on the passenger side. 

“You’re _dumb_ ,” Daryl mimicked him, lifting his foot up to rest on the dashboard and rolling the window beside him down once they started moving. They were about four hours out from Alexandria, but only two out from Hilltop so the unspoken plan was to stop by there first and drop off half of the supplies. 

“Shit, I forgot that book,” Paul said, the realization hitting him once they were a good twenty minutes down the road. It wasn’t worth going back for, of course, but he still hated leaving things unfinished. 

“The brother and the sister fuck, one of the littler ones dies. They escape. The end.” Daryl said, looking out his window, his hand reaching out to feel the breeze as they moved. 

A stunned laugh escaped Jesus. He did not expect that to be the kind of book Daryl knew anything about. “Woah, thanks for spoiling it, asshole.” 

Daryl grunted, offering him a shrug and a sidelong glance. “At least now you know.”

—

The stop at Hilltop had offered Jesus more than enough of Gregory to last him the next few days. Daryl and Jesus had decided amongst themselves how to split the haul and make it fair, with each side getting equal amounts of the same items.

“All I’m saying is that we should have more of the medical supplies here,” the older man said, appearing seemingly from nowhere, leaning on a cane for support. He was still recovering from the attack, but not even a knife to the gut could stop Gregory from meddling where he wasn’t needed. “I mean, at least we _have_ a doctor still,” he added. 

Jesus barely made it between Daryl and Gregory before the archer advanced, closing the gap between himself and Gregory. Jesus lifted his hands up and pressed against Daryl's chest as he stormed towards Hilltop’s leader. “The hell'd you just say?” He growled, hands moving to try to knock Paul’s away, side stepping in an attempt to get around him as though he wasn’t even there. “I oughta finish the job your man started on you, you fucking asshole,” he raised a hand, his arm moving around Jesus as he pointed at Gregory. Jesus dug his heels in as Daryl shoved at him. He didn't want to take the bigger man down, would do just about anything he could to keep him away so he wouldn't have to put him on the floor. 

Daryl’s nostrils flared, his anger seemed to be driving him forward into Paul while the smaller man tried to remain the barrier between the other two. At least Gregory had the presence of mind to step back and away. “We tried to tell you. We tried to warn you about him,” Gregory said, his voice quaking nervously as Daryl fumed. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Daryl warned, his voice low. Paul could feel him shaking with rage, his feet still trying to bring him towards Gregory even as the other man turned his back on them and walked away. 

Daryl snapped out of it a moment later, shoving hard at Jesus who recovered quickly on his feet.

“I’m sorry about him,” he tried, moving back towards the other man and the truck. Daryl was pacing back and forth, eyes following Gregory as he hobbled back towards the mansion. Jesus stepped closer still, raising his hands again, this time in an attempt to comfort the other man. 

“Yeah, fuck off,” Daryl flinched away when Jesus rested a hand on his shoulder, knocking Jesus's hand away before storming away. Jesus watched him until he disappeared behind a trailer, pulling his hat off and fisting his fingers into his hair.

Lost about what to do next about that situation, Jesus went about the work they’d come to do. He unloaded Hilltop’s half of the supplies and brought them to the main house where they would be added to the inventory. The ladies were excited about the bathroom supplies he’d stuffed into the bag, namely the fancy toilet paper and hair brushes. There was food, too, and a few first aid kits for Dr. Carson. The sight of those brought a feeling of guilt over Paul, who left right away to try to find Alexandria’s missing man.

—

The search was short lived, as Daryl was found leaning against the side of the truck. “You comin’, or you gonna stick around here?” Daryl asked, his eyes fixed forward.

Negan would be making his first visit to Alexandria soon, Paul knew. He never gave specific days, but he showed up more or less once every two weeks. Jesus begrudgingly admitted it was a smart tactic, to show up outside of any fixed schedule because it left them with little idea when they could plan any kind of attack. Not that an attack was even in the cards for either one of their communities. Hilltop could use him, but a bigger part of Paul wanted to help Rick and his people. To help Daryl, even if the man didn’t really seem to want it. 

“I’m with you,” Jesus said. 

Daryl nodded and stood up straight. “After you,” the hunter opened the drivers side door and walked around the truck to his side. Jesus climbed in, firing up the engine. _When you're chewing on life's gristle… don't grumble, give a whistle and this'll help things turn out for the best.._

“You really gotta stop with that song, man,” Daryl combed his fingers through his hair, swiping it out of his face as he looked over at Jesus. “Or I’m gonna drive and you can sit in the back with all the shit,” he lifted a muddy boot back up to the dashboard, his foot falling into a shoe print left earlier. He was consistent as ever.

“Seriously, please tell me the last song you had stuck in your head,” Jesus asked, hitting the gas harder once the gates were opened to them. He looked over towards Daryl, who waited a few beats before looking back over at him. 

Daryl lifted his hand up, a dirty fingernail finding it's way between his teeth as he seemed to contemplate the question.

The side of his mouth twitched, and he looked up at Jesus. “Nah,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, I don't know guys. This kind of just happened. I have some half baked ideas of where it can go.
> 
> This is unbetaed, sorry about that! Feedback is appreciated!


End file.
